The Visioning eBook

She had resumed her seat and the critical examination
of her coffee spoon. The men were silent, respecting
the moment of tender contemplation of her fondness
for Ann. “Ann is a dear girl,” she
volunteered at last.

“Having had it impressed upon me that I am such
a duffer,” Captain Jones began, a little haughtily,
“I naturally hesitate to make many inquiries,
but I cannot quite get it through my stupid and impossible
head just why ‘Ann’ is hidden away in
this mysterious manner.”

“And why, if I may venture still another blundering
question, was poor Nora held responsible for a cough
she never coughed?”

Once more Miss Jones surveyed the torn ruffle at the
bottom of her skirt. She seemed to be giving
it serious consideration.

“I am glad that I do not live in the Mississippi
Valley,” was the remark she finally raised herself
to make.

“One of Kate’s greatest charms,”
Wayne informed Prescott, “is the emphasis and
assurance with which she unfailingly produces the
irrelevant. Now when you ask her if she likes
Benedictine, don’t be at all surprised to have
her dreamily murmur: ’But why should oranges
always be yellow?’”

“I am glad that I do not live in the Mississippi
Valley,” Kate went on, superiorly ignoring the
observation, “because the joy of living seems
to be at a very low ebb out here.”

“Honestly now, do you get that?” he demanded
of his friend.

“Ann and I had planned a beautiful surprise
for you, Wayne.”

“Thanks,” said Wayne drily.

“To-night Ann was tired. She did not wish
to come down to dinner. Of course, I might have
told you: ‘Ann is here.’ To the
orderly, West-Pointed mind, the well oiled, gun-constructing
mind, I presume that would present itself as the thing
to do. But Ann and I have a sense of the joy
of living, a delight in the festive, in the—­the
bubbling wine of youth, you know. So we said,
‘How beautiful to surprise dear Wayne.’
In the morning Ann, refreshed by the long night’s
sleep, was to go out and gather roses. Wayne—­”

“The roses don’t bloom until next month,”
brutally interrupted Wayne.

“Of course, you would think of that! As
we had planned it, Wayne, looking from his window
was to see the beautiful girl—­she is a beautiful
girl—­gathering dew-laden roses in the garden.
Perhaps Captain Prescott, chancing at that very moment
to look from his window, would see her too. It
was to be a beautiful, a never-to-be-forgotten moment
for you both.”